


Avignon

by BBMarcello



Category: Lost
Genre: Angst, Broken Jack, Disguise, Future Fic, M/M, Mystery, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-18 01:01:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1409215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BBMarcello/pseuds/BBMarcello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A deeply depressed Jack is dragged around the south of France by his interfering aunt. He meets a familiar stranger in Avignon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Back in the days of Lost, I wrote a lot of Jack/Sawyer fic. Avignon ran away from me and, reading back on it now, I still enjoy it. This was written about Season 2-3 time so, in this world, some people successfully got off the island. Deedee, in my mind, is played by Olympia Dukakis. Apologies for any terribly mangled French language.

**SATURDAY**  
  
"Madame, monsieur..."  
  
Jack would recognise that voice anywhere. His eyes jolted up from the menu and met a pair of deep, crystal blue eyes.  
  
"Sawyer?"  
  
"Excusez-moi, monsieur?"  
  
The deep growl was Sawyer's but the accent was undeniably French. He must have been mistaken. This man wasn't Sawyer, just as all those faces he'd seen over the years hadn't been Sawyer either. The waiter had short cropped hair, with a touch of flat top, clean shaven and the standard waiter set of a crisp white shirt, with the sleeves rolled up neatly, a black long apron tied around his waist and black trousers. Just another average waiter around here.  
  
"Sorry, I was mistaken", he mumbled and ran a hand through his hair.  
  
"What can I get you?"  
  
A cough from Aunt Deedee made him realise he'd been staring a little bit too long.  
  
"Oh, right, right, sorry".  
  
He scanned the menu quickly and randomly picked, "coq au vin for me".  
  
"And I'll have the fish stew, young man."  
  
"Excellent choice, Madame. The bouillabaisse, est délicieuse today. Bien."  
  
As the waiter strode back into the kitchen, Jack could hear a babble of French being shouted to the chef. Nope, definitely not the redneck he'd known and...well, he'd never got further than that, had he?  
  
"Are you going to talk to me or is this going to be another one of those silent lunches?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Deedee."  
  
"Jeez, you're sorry for an awful lot lately."  
  
"I know."  
  
"Anyone would think you weren't enjoying yourself? I'm sorry I'm such poor company."  
  
"No, you're not. Honestly, I am enjoying myself." He reached across the table to hold her hand. "You're great company, the best. I've just got things on my mind."  
  
"Don't I know it! Come on, sourpuss, you need to start enjoying your vacation. What about those lavender fields we saw this morning? They were something."  
  
"Deedee, they're just flowers."  
  
"Oh piffle. You need to start looking up and seeing the trees!" She clasped her hands tightly on the table, clearly praying that whatever she was about to say would get through his thick head.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You work ridiculously long hours, in that crumby hospital, with no thanks."  
  
"It's a city hospital, I don't expect thanks."  
  
"And I won't even mention that you're wasting your talent."  
  
"Deedee."  
  
"Anyway, that's by and by. What I mean is that, if you don’t start looking up and seeing the trees, you're going to start looking like one of those creatures from The Time Machine."  
  
"The Morlocks?"  
  
"Exactly."  
  
"I'm not that bad."  
  
"Well, all I know is I remember a little boy who would've run straight through that field of lavender, given half the chance."  
  
"I'm not little anymore."  
  
"No, you're not, but you're not half grown up right either."  
  
"Madame."  
  
A different waiter had appeared with their food.  
  
"Oh, thank you, garçon, this looks delicieux."  
  
Jack snorted at his aunt's attempts at French.  
  
"What? At least I'm trying."  
  
"Yes, you are, very."  
  
She waggled her fork at him.  
  
"Now, you listen to me, young man. Don't think I'm too old to recognise your sarcastic tone and don't think I'm going to stand for your miserable face anymore. Buck up, Jack, or else!"  
  
"Yes, ma'am."  
  
The rest of their lunch was filled with Deedee's yammerings about the countryside and how cute all the little villages had been and wasn't Paris going to be something. In the midst of this, Jack's attention was drawn to the street, where their original waiter had appeared, the waiter who'd distracted him in all of his French, apronned starchiness. He was getting onto an old '50s Triumph, painted matt black with a dent in the fuel tank. His apron was nowhere to be seen and, as he sat back on the bike, letting it turn over, he pulled his shirt out of his trousers, revealing a tiny expanse of what looked like very firm abs indeed. He sucked on his fork distractedly.  
  
"Jack!"  
  
"What? Oh, sorry, what were you saying?"  
  
  
After lunch, there was an exhausting tour of the local church, commissioned by Deedee who'd waylaid the local priest, batting her eyelashes and telling him that she found religious architecture so fascinating and would he mind awfully showing them around. Deedee then retired early for the night, saying that she needed her beauty sleep. Flirting with the priest had tired her out, more like.  
  
Jack lay on his bed, watching the sunset through the balcony doors, smoking and thinking, thinking and smoking. Their hotel was comfortable enough, all the elements of shabby chic that would go for a song in the West Village, but were just seen as very lived-in here in France. The picture of Country Living and here he was sullying it, in a pair of tatty jeans and copious amounts of Gauloises. He scratched his belly and lifted an arm to see if he'd gained a watch mark yet. Deedee was right; he'd gotten pale enough to join the Morlocks' gang. Maybe they should forget Paris and go further south, visit Cannes, get some proper sunshine. Here, the summer didn't seem to be poking through the morning mist enough. He took a deep drag of his cigarette. Or maybe his mood was too wintry for this place. Fuck it. He knew he had to make the effort, even if just for Deedee's sake. First vacation in forever and he was acting just as miserably as if he was standing over a gunshot victim at four in the morning, trying to block out the screams of 'I'm gonna fuck you up if you touch me, man'. He'd chosen this life precisely so that he could blank his own shit out. Only lately, he wasn't so sure where the gunshots and the blood and guts ended and he began. The dreams were the worst. In the little sleep he got, he'd hear waves crashing on the shore, feel the sun on his skin and start to relax, just that little bit. In contrast, he'd wake up so tense, it'd take five minutes to uncrack all the bones in his back.  
  
Hearing some laughter outside, he swung his legs off the bed and slowly pulled himself up. From the balcony, he could see a bar down the street, the only light left in the darkness. He blew smoke rings into the night air and listened to the strange beat coming out of the bar - techno with a French rap over it. This country was very strange. A loud belly laugh sharpened his focus on the street as a blonde woman came out of the bar, closely followed by that waiter. That laugh of his sent a shiver down his spine. To hear someone laugh like that, so open and honest - he'd give anything for that right now. The waiter got on his bike and held out a helmet to the blonde. She got on behind him and hugged his back, the pair of them still laughing as he gunned the bike and took off down the street. Jack stepped back into the shadows and leant against the doorframe. Go to sleep, you miserable old thing. Tomorrow's a fresh start. He'd been around Deedee too long if she was now chastising him in his head. He flicked the cigarette off the balcony and pulled the doors to, hoping for some breeze in the night. Pulling off his jeans, he crawled under the bed sheet and turned on his side, facing the night sky and the rising moon.


	2. Chapter 2

**SUNDAY**  
  
"Come on Jackanory! Rise and shine!"  
  
Jesus. He squinted into the daylight.  
  
Leaning over the washstand, he stared into the small, bevelled mirror. He felt about sixty and he looked it too. The long hair and stubble not quite taking the focus away from the black under his eyes. Fuck it. He pulled on a pair of chinos and a thin grey sweater. There was a chill in the air and it felt like rain. A quick smoke out the balcony and he felt a little bit more human.  
  
Deedee was holding court in the small breakfast room downstairs, one old French guy and the landlady hanging on every word.  
  
" 'Of course', I said, 'don't forget, Jackie, you'll always have the memories'."  
  
Jack sighed at the thought of sitting through another Kerouac-tinged breakfast. He'd never been quite sure if Deedee was putting him on but the French lapped her stories up. He grabbed a croissant and a large cup of coffee and quietly squeezed past the landlady, to sit opposite his aunt.  
  
"Oh, Jack, darling. I was just telling Monsieur Rivre here all about my Beat days, you know."  
  
"Mmhmm."  
  
"My nephew here, he used to sit on dear Allan's knee."  
  
Jack chewed on his croissant and did his best not to roll his eyes.  
  
"Of course, I helped him lose all that weight in the Seventies, but he went too far. 'Allan, my dear man', I told him, 'you've gone too far. You're a shadow of your former self'."  
  
Jack got the message behind her patent stare at him. He quickly gulped down his coffee.  
  
"Come on, Deedee. I'm sure you've taken up enough of Monsieur Rivre's time, we must get on."  
  
"Oh yes, of course. Well, au revoir, monsieur, a bientôt."  
  
"A pleasure, madame." The old guy kissed her hand and even did a little bow.  
  
"Former Nazi", Jack whispered in her ear.  
  
"Jack! He's a sweet old man!"  
  
"Mmmhmm, did you see the goose-step?" He winked at her as they stepped outside.  
  
"Good to see your humour back, my boy."  
  
"Yes, ma'am."  
  
  
They spent the morning in the antiques shops, Deedee sighing over all the little French knick-knacks. After pleading look from Jack, she agreed that he should run over to the little pâtisserie and get her a snack, maybe a petit-four...or six. The rain had started off as a patter but lightning lit up the street as he dashed across the street.  
  
"Bonjour, ça va, monsieur?"  
  
"Erm, yes, bien."  
  
"Ah, you are American?"  
  
"Is it that obvious?"  
  
"Juste the accent."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"And the clothes."  
  
"Uhuh."  
  
"But, you definitely 'ave the French starving artist look about you."  
  
The blonde woman grinned at him and Jack was surprised to find himself smiling back.  
  
"I'd like-"  
  
"Pas question, non, non, I am just closing up for a break. You must come with me, to the bar, and meet mon ami Jamie. He speaks English très, très eloquent, so much better than me, non?"  
  
"Erm, I'm actually just after some pastries."  
  
"Bien sûr, you'll 'ave them but a drink first, d’accord?"  
  
She grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the shop, quickly locking up and dashing back across the street to the bar, Jack running to keep up as the rain now poured down. As they entered the bar, he shook his hair out and looked up straight into the waiter's eyes. The blonde kissed him on both cheeks and pulled him up from his chair for a hug, punctuated by an excited babble of French.  
  
"Please, asseyez vous, please?"  
  
"Thank you. Bonjour, monsieur."  
  
He held out his hand but the waiter just laughed and pulled out a pack of Gauloises from his shirt pocket.  
  
"Smoke?"  
  
"Thank you."  
  
The blonde gestured between the two of them as she sat down.  
  
"This, this is Jamie. Jamie-. I'm so sorry, I didn't even ask your name!"  
  
"Jack."  
  
"Allô Jack. Patrice thinks you have a trusting face."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
Jamie poured out three glasses of red from a bottle that he'd grabbed off the counter behind him. The blonde, Patrice, talked excitedly to Jamie once more, keeping her eyes on Jack.  
  
"She wants to know what America is really like. She's dying to go to New York and grabs every Yankee who dares enter her shop, pumps them for information. I speak better English than her, so, voilà, you are here."  
  
Patrice spoke and Jamie snorted, then laughed out loud, that clear, joyous laugh again.  
  
"She thinks you'll be truthful, tell her what the Waldorf's cakes are like."  
  
Jack sipped his wine.  
  
"I'm sorry, I don't know. I'm not high-class enough." Not anymore, anyway. All he'd tasted lately were vending machine Twinkies and sugar-coated cupcakes in the hospital commissary. Not very high-class at all. He looked at Patrice, at the hope in her eyes.  
  
"Tell her...tell her, the cakes in Serendipity surpass the Waldorf's, thick creamy chocolate, double layers of fresh cream. And two blocks from there is an Italian bakery that has cinnamon pastries ready for you at four in the morning."  
  
Jack watched Jamie as he translated for Patrice. This man had such a calm air about him, it was intoxicating. The laidback pose - one foot propped on the side of the chair next to Jack, a cigarette hanging from his hand, fingers stroking the base of his wineglass. Could he bottle some of that relaxation and take it home?  
  
Jack continued to have the most bizarre conversation of recent years, telling Jamie about different restaurants and bakeries and cafes, Jamie translating to Patrice, and Patrice practically leaping off her seat, with a rush of French aimed back to Jack, with Jamie explaining everything back again. As Jamie got up and leant over the bar to grab another bottle, Jack realised he was having fun. With the rain pouring down outside and the cosy feel of this bar, the wine, the cigarettes, and the company, this was more fun than he'd had in what felt like forever. Just chatting in the dimly lit bar about cinnamon rolls and cream cheese schmear with a mad French blonde girl and a, frankly, gorgeous French man.  
  
A sharp rap on the window caught their attention and Jack jumped up to open the door for Deedee.  
  
"Ah, Jack, finally, some people your age. Well, I have found some wonderful old biddies in the shop and I've just come to let you know that I'm going to the cafe down the street with them for some tea."  
  
"Oh, okay. Do you want me to come with?"  
  
"No, no, you stay here and keep out of the rain for a while. I'll be back shortly."  
  
A kiss on the cheek and she was out the door again. Jack stood by the window and watched as she huddled with two other old dears under a golf umbrella as they made their way down the street.  
  
"That was my grand-mère Yvette."  
  
Jamie whispered something to her in French and Patrice laughed.  
  
"Tu as raison! Tea? Non! They will be getting, how you say?" She nudged Jamie.  
  
Jamie smirked over his cigarette, "plastered and talking shit about all the old men in the town."  
  
Jack stood with his hands in his pockets and stared at Jamie. He was starting to feel a bit plastered himself.  
  
"Like finds like, I guess."  
  
Jamie stared right back and blew a smoke ring.  
  
"We should eat. Stefan, some bread and cheese, ya?"  
  
"Ya?"  
  
"Stefan is German. Don't worry, we're all a little strange round here."  
  
The Stefan in question came out of the back room and slammed several laden plates, a basket of bread and a large knife down on the table. The stocky man then wandered back to the kitchen, mumbling to himself.  
  
"See?"  
  
Jack laughed, "indeed."  
  
The bread sopped up some of the alcohol but the afternoon got more raucous as the rain continued and the wine flowed. Jack was in fits trying to speak French as Patrice and Jamie taught him all the swear words and dirty phrases they could think of. Jack wiped his eyes and sighed as he settled down from a giggling fit that had started with Patrice teaching him "your father smells of elderberries" in French. He leant back in his chair and rocked on the back legs.  
  
"Don't you have a pâtisserie to run?"  
  
"Va au diable! It is raining, no one buys cakes in the rain."  
  
Jack's chair chose that moment to give out and he crashed to the floor. Jamie laughed as he stood over him and offered him a hand up.  
  
"Come, I think we need to get you back to your room before you cause any more damage around here."  
  
Patrice stayed in the bar, complaining that her hair would fritz in the downpour and Jack was led, half leaning on Jamie, back to his room. As he fell onto the bed, wet clothes be damned, he looked up and saw an angel.  
  
"Sawyer. I've missed you."  
  
"Non, Jack, you are mistaken. You are very drunk. Rest now."  
  
As Jamie moved out of his reach, he felt his hand run down his arm and then he was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**MONDAY**

Jack woke up feeling like death.  His eyes were sore, his sides ached, his head was throbbing and he was in bed fully clothed.  He turned over and buried his face into the pillow.  They were supposed to be moving on today but he had no idea of the time.  He pulled his arm up to his face.  Midday.  Shit.  He scrambled up and did his best to ignore the pounding headache, now combined with head rush and a strong desire to puke.

"Deedee?  Deedee?  Are you there?"

He knocked on her door and heard a faint groan from inside the room.  He gently turned the door handle and put his head round the door.

"Deedee?"

"Ugh, in here.  Follow the smell."

Deedee was sitting on the bathroom floor, her head resting against the toilet seat.

"Jack, darling," she croaked, "this is no hangover."

Now he was very concerned.  He leant down and checked her vitals.

"Right, come on, old girl."  He pulled her arms around his neck and carried her over to the bed, pulled all the covers up over her and grabbed the trashcan for the side of the bed.  He sat down on the edge of the bed and the movement of the springs caused another groan.

"Well, doctor?  What've I got?  Besides stuff coming out of both ends."

"Nice.  You've got a temperature of a hundred and one but you're cold and clammy.  My guess is you've picked up a stomach bug from somewhere."

She groaned, "marvellous."

"Your friendly neighbourhood doctor is prescribing bed rest for a few days.  You can move as far as the bathroom but that's your lot."

"Don't worry, I wasn't intending on any mountain hikes anytime soon."  She grabbed his hand.

"Am I going to be okay?"

"Yes, but the both ends business might continue for a while.  I'm going to run out for some supplies, I'll be ten minutes tops."

"Don't be long."

"I won't and I'll let the landlady know you're sick so no one'll disturb you."

Jack gently closed the door behind him to a quiet "you're such a good boy, Jack, such a good boy.” He grabbed his wallet from his room and ran outside, briefly stopping to let the landlady know what was going on, to cries of "oh, poor woman."  In the street, the sunshine was almost too much for him to bear.  Supplies first, then a very large coffee.  He waved to Patrice as he dashed by, she looked very grey indeed, and he hoped she wouldn't be offending by his not stopping by the shop to say hello.

 

"Right, you are not to move.  Understood?"

A muffled "yes" came out from under the wet cloth.

"I don't think you need me for the whole bathroom business but I'm going to be right next door on the balcony."  He looked around the room.  "Here," he grabbed an ornamental bell from the cabinet, "you need me?  You ring.  I don't care if it's just to say hello, ring me, okay?"

Deedee weakly rang the bell as practice.

"Good.  I'm going to leave your doors open so you can get some air and I'll hear you from my balcony."

"Oh, so Romeo and Juliet," she grumbled.

"Yes, but with the added bonus of vomit."

"Jack, please don't say the v word.  I've managed not to do it for ten whole minutes."

"Right, sorry.  You're all stocked up and if you don't ring, I'll be back in a few hours to force some more meds down you."  He lifted the cloth and kissed her forehead.  "Now rest, okay?"

"Mmmhmm."

Wow, speechless.  Pigs were really flying today.  Back in his room, Jack called down for a large cafetière of coffee and settled himself in the sun.  His hangover had been overtaken by his concern for Deedee.  Now he could sit still for five minutes, he realised he was stuck, they wouldn't be leaving for at least three or four days, preferably a week so Deedee could get her strength back up.  Shit.  With Deedee sick, he really didn't want to deal with himself for the week, he'd go crazy.

 

Some hours later, he'd read half of Exodus and drunk enough coffee to feel vaguely human again.  He'd gone in to check on Deedee but she was sleeping, so he laid out some pills and a glass of water by her bed, with two notes that read 'Eat me' and 'Drink me'.  Just as he'd settled on the balcony again, his stomach announced its lack of food with a loud grumble.  Maybe he should ask the landlady to rustle up something for him, he didn't want to go too far from Deedee right now.

"Jack!"

Jack dropped his cigarette in his lap.  "Shit!  What?"  He brushed off the ash and leant over the balcony.  Jamie was in the street, in that waiter uniform again.

"I'm on a break until dinner.  Are you coming to the bar?"

"I can't.  My aunt is sick."

"Okay,"  Jamie disappeared from view.  "I'll come up."

Double shit.  Jack leapt off his chair, straightened the bed out and then looked around wildly for something clean to put on.  He hadn't really gone anywhere so he was still lazing around in yesterday's clothes.  A clean t-shirt, a quick spray of deodorant and some rushed hands through his hair were all he got time for before there was a knock at the door.  Jamie leaned against the doorframe.

"Here."  He held out a basket of food to Jack.  "Madame Fayeis assaulted me with this.  She said you hadn't eaten all day."

"Thanks.  Come in."

Jamie walked in and turned back to face Jack, looking suspiciously at him.

"And why does it smell like a whore's boudoir in here?"

"Oh, erm, Deedee puked in here as well.  It's to mask the smell."

Jamie raised an eyebrow and smirked at him.

"Nice.  Now, where shall we eat?"

"Oh, the balcony.  Let me grab another chair for you."

"You don't happen to have a clean shirt, do you ?  I stink of fish and my clean one is back at the cafe."

"Sure, grab one out of the closet."

Jack tried to busy himself with looking through the basket but his vision was blurred by the sight of Jamie's bare back as he changed by the bed.  Jesus, did God invent back dimples just to torture him?

He sat on the balcony and pulled out a bottle from the basket.

"Wine as well?"

"Naturellement!  It's not an occasion without wine."

Jamie joined him on the balcony with one of Jack's dark blue t-shirts on.  Man, he wore it well.  Jamie sifted through the basket.

"And what's the occasion?"

"Well, being hangover-free for you, I would say."

Jack laughed, "you should've seen me when I woke up."

"Yes, I am sure you were quite a sight."  There was definitely a twinkle behind those eyes.

"...So, let's see...chicken?  Slices of ham?  Cheese?"

Jack's stomach growled again.

"All of it."

Jamie pulled the cork out of the wine and took a deep swig.

"I saw Patrice this morning.  She looked dreadful."

"Yes, after I left you here, I went back and we continued at the bar."

"You look pretty good for someone who was up half the night drinking."

"Yes, I do, don't I?"  He raised an eyebrow.  "Hangover cure, secret family recipe.  Tastes like hell but it does the trick, n’est-ce pas?"

"I guess so."  Jamie held the bottle out to him and he grabbed it quickly, took a deep slug and handed it back.  "Should you be drinking if you have to go back to work?"

Jamie looked at him like he was an idiot, which, nowadays, he probably was.

"I'm French."

"Sorry."

"You're sorry for an awful lot, Jack.  I think Deedee is right to be worried."

Jack choked on a mouthful of chicken.

"What?!"

"This is a small town, Jack.  Deedee talks to Yvette, Yvette talks to Patrice et voilà. There are no secrets here."

"Clearly."

"You're avoiding.  What do you have to be so sorry about?"

“You don’t want to know.”

“Fair enough. “ 

They sat quietly for a moment but Jack felt like he was still being analysed.

“How do you cope with it?”

“With what?”

Jamie motioned to his tapping foot.

“Being forced to relax?  Staying still for more than five minutes in one place?”

“Huh, I am finding it incredibly hard.”  He picked up the book from the floor.  “Read half of Exodus though.”  He scratched his stubble.  “I don’t want to sound presumptuous-“

“Please do.”

“How do _you_ do it? You don’t give the air of a small town man.”

Jamie put two cigarettes in his mouth, lit them both and handed one to Jack.  The tip had the thinnest touch of moisture on it.  Jack took a drag.

“I wasn’t, but I am now.  I grew up in Paris, wrong side of town, made some bad mistakes, made some better ones, now I am here.  What about you?  What are you doing here?  Shouldn’t you be in surgery somewhere or on a golf course?”

Jack sucked meat juice from his fingers.  “No, not lately.  I used to be a specialist, miracles every day.”

“So what happened?”

“I…I went through something…an experience.  When I came back, the miracles had dried up.  I moved across the country and just, sort of fell into ER work.  Been up to my neck in blood and shit ever since.”

“And vomit.”

“Yes, and vomit.  God, how do you do that?”

“What?”

“Make everyone smile?”

“Ha, it’s a, how you say, it’s a knack.”

“Well, it’s a great knack to have.”

Jamie leant forward for some more food from the basket but Jack noticed a frown had flittered across his face.

“So, how long are you stuck here for?”

Now it was Jack’s turn to frown.  “I’d say about a week.  Hopefully, Deedee’ll pull out of this by tomorrow but she’ll need to take it easy and get her strength back.”

“I’ll tell Yvette to visit on Wednesday then.  From what I’ve heard, I’m sure your Aunt will be climbing the walls by then.”

“Yep, quite probably.”

Jamie bit into an apple and quietly munched, lifting his head and closing his eyes to the sun.  Jack leant over to grab the bottle from by his feet.

“Interesting tattoos.  What do they mean?”

Jack pulled his arm back and lifted the bottle to his lips.

“Nothing,” he took a sip of wine, “I got them a very long time ago.  Some drunk night in Phuket.”

“You look the type.”

“Ha!  I didn’t back then.  I was going through my ‘woe is me’ phase.”

“Aren’t you going through that now?”

Jack chuckled and shoved his arm,  “no!”

He sat back and thought.  “No, now is my ‘I really don’t give a shit anymore’ phase.”

“About what?”

“Everything.”

“That’s sad.  What does that to you?”

Here we go, Jack thought.  This’ll be it.  He’ll tell him and this will change from budding friendship with a side of easy flirtation to sideshow gawking.

“I was one of those survivors.”

“Of what?”

“Flight 815.”

“Ah oui, the plane crash.  I remember it on the news.  But, I don’t think I recognise you.”

“I’ve changed.”

Jack waited for the inevitable barrage of questions about the island but they didn’t come, Jamie just carried on eating.  Jack chuckled to himself.

“What?”

“You’re the first person who hasn’t jumped at the chance to interrogate me.”

“Well, like you said, you’ve changed.  Sometimes the past is better off in the past, n’est-ce pas?”

Jack breathed a sigh of relief, “C’est vrai.”

“Very good!”

The bell rang in the next room.

“Don’t go anywhere.”

“Non.”

 

He walked into Deedee’s room to a scene from the Exorcist.  As he helped her up, a quip about watching her head spin right round merely got a sharp stare.  He helped her shower, got her into a clean nightgown and back into bed.  He coaxed her into taking some more drugs and sat by her until she fell asleep.

“Where are you going?”

“It’s late, I have to get back to the café.”  Jamie had just been closing his room door.

“Damn, sorry, I didn’t realise I was going to be so long.  When Deedee rings that bell, she really means it.”

“Will you be staying in tomorrow?”

“I don’t know, I’ll have to see how she feels.”

“Okay, I will come by again,” and with that, he was down the stairs and off.

 

Jack sighed and went back into his room.  The white shirt was on his bed.  Shit.  He walked round the bed, glanced out the window and casually picked up the shirt.  He moved towards the balcony, figuring he’d air it out then thought again and sat back on the bed with it in his lap.  He stared down at it for a moment, feeling the starched cotton under his fingertips.  Ah, screw it.  He lifted the shirt to his nose and lay back on the bed.  There was a faint whiff of fish but the smell of Jamie was overpowering it.  Clean sweat, cigarettes and some kind of cologne, with a hint of lavender to it…well, he is French.  Jesus, he was hard.  This was ridiculous.  He didn’t do this, just meet someone and click.  He was the king of long tortured relationships.  He scrunched the shirt in his hand and breathed it all in.  His other hand snaked inside his jeans.  He couldn’t remember when he’d last done this.  He draped the shirt over his face and stroked himself, thinking about Jamie’s voice, that deep growl, imagining his face over him, eyes opening wide as he came inside him.

“Fuck!”

Jack pulled his hand out of his pants and threw the shirt across the room.  Jesus.  He wiped his hand on the sheet.  Could he be acting more like a schoolboy?  He lifted his hips and pulled his jeans off, sat up and stared at the shirt on the floor.  Five minutes later, the shirt and his jeans were at his feet in the shower and he was scrubbing himself raw.


	4. Chapter 4

**TUESDAY**

“Jack darling?”

Jack lifted his head from the sheet and wiped the drool from his mouth.  He propped his head on his arm and looked up at Deedee.

“You look a bit better,” he croaked.

“I feel it, darling.  No more v-word.  I still feel like hell though.”

Jack stretched back in his chair.  “Good, to the no vomit, I mean.”

“You know, you didn’t need to stay and watch me sweetheart.”

“Yes, I did.”

“You can be a sweetie when you try, you know.”

“I know.”

She swatted his arm.

“So, what are your plans for today?”

“Looking after you.”

“Pfft, nonsense, I’m not going anywhere.  What are you going to do?  Watch me sleep? What about that nice young man I heard you laughing with yesterday?”

“Were you eavesdropping?”

“It was good to hear you laugh, that’s all.”

He got up and poured her a glass of water.

“Well, I don’t know.”

The evil eye hit him squarely in the face.

“Okay, okay.  If I see him, okay?”

“Okay, sleep now.”

 

Jack got dressed and ventured out into the sunshine.  If I see him, if I see him.  Jesus.  ‘Oh, hi Jamie, how are you?  Oh, your shirt?  It’s just drying on my balcony, I got some spunk on it, sorry about that.’  What a mess.

Jack needn’t have worried.  He ended up having a Jamie-free day.  There was a market in the town square and he sat on the church steps, eating fresh olives and vine tomatoes and drinking fresh orange juice.  He took his watch off and put it in his jean pocket.  He was actually getting a watch mark.  Was the town sinking into his bones? Or just Jamie?

 

Stones hit his window just as he was getting ready for bed.

“Hey!  You are going to sleep?”

Jack looked down and realised he’d come out onto the balcony in just his shorts.

“No, no.  Not if there’s something better going on.”

“Bien.  Come down, come out to play!”

“Okay, give me five minutes.”

Jack looked in the mirror.  He still looked dreadful but a tan was starting to peek through.  He checked on Deedee on his way out but she was fast asleep.  Out in the street, Jamie was leaning against his bike, smoking.

“Hi.”

“Hi.  You want to go for a ride?”

“Definitely.”

He passed him a helmet and got on the bike to kick-start it.  Shit, he was going to have to hold onto him.  There was no handle behind the seat like modern bikes, it was hold onto your driver or fall off.  He pulled his hair back and put the helmet on, got on the bike and lightly held onto Jamie’s sides.  Jamie grabbed his hands and pulled them round his chest.  He looked back at Jack.

“I ride fast.”

He took a last drag of his cigarette, flicked it to the kerb and they were off.

 

Don’t get hard, don’t get hard, don’t get hard.  Aunt Deedee, vomit, blood, Jamie’s blood, blood flowing straight to his rock hard- goddammit!  Jamie was wearing a thin leather jacket but the heat from his chest was pouring through Jack like he had his hands on bare skin.  This was not good.  Jack prayed for a very short bike ride.  When he opened his eyes and stopped concentrating on his hard-on, he realised they were driving through pitch-black countryside with only the faint light from the bike guiding their way.

“Okay?”  Jamie shouted back to him.

“Yeh, this is great.”  And it was, just to be on the move again, never mind holding onto Jamie, very tightly.  They stopped at a low gate with a fence that stretched out down the road.

“Here we are,” Jamie said and grabbed a blanket from the strapping on the back of the seat.

“Where?”

“You’ll see. The bike will be fine.”

Of course it would be.  This wasn’t New York, this was the middle of nowhere.  As long as there weren’t any farmers with big guns hanging around.

“Come on,”  Jamie opened the gate and pulled it closed behind them with a thick piece of wire.  He took a small torch from his jacket pocket and waved the light in front of them.

“Lavender?!”

“Exactement.  Now, close your eyes and breathe in.  What can you smell?”

Jack wrinkled up his nose, ready to breathe in ‘old bag lady’ smell.

“Oh!  It’s really strong, but it’s not like old ladies”. 

Jamie laughed, “go on.”

“I don’t know, it’s deeper, throaty.”

“Sexual?”

Jack opened his eyes, expecting to meet Jamie’s.  But he was staring off into the distance.

“Yes.”

“This way.”

They walked between the thick bushes until they were surrounded by them in a small clearing.  Jamie opened out the blanket on the ground and lay down.

“Come, look at this.”

Jack lay down and was greeted by a vast sky of stars.

“Wow.”

“This is what your Aunt meant.”

“What?”

“When she told you to look up at the trees.”

“How do you know she said that?”

“I’m a waiter.  I have the ears of a bat.”

“Terrific.”

“Jack, everything you do in your work, that would be life if you were gaining anything from it.”

“I’m helping people.”

“You’re helping them, not you.”

“Isn’t that the point?”

“Okay, where do you see yourself in ten years’ time?”

Jack stared at the stars,  “don’t know…where do you?”

“Here, exactly here and happy still.  You know, I had to deal with a lot of shit to get here, come to terms with myself and my past and I’ve finally reached that point where I’m happy.  The scenery’s important Jack but so is your heart.”

Jamie turned on his side and put his hand over Jack’s heart.

“Metaphorical trees, Jack.”

Jack put his hand over Jamie’s and closed his eyes.

 

Jack woke with a shiver.  Jamie was lying flat again, smoking.  He turned to face him and rubbed his eyes.

“Sorry.”

“I am going to ban your use of that word.”

“I meant for falling asleep.”

“I think your body is realising it hasn’t slept in a very long time.”

“How do you know?”

Jamie pinched out his cigarette and put it in his jean pocket.  He turned to face Jack.

“Lucky guess.”

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever done this.”

“What?”

“Just…nothing really, just relaxing.  Not worrying about anyone or anything.”

“Didn’t you relax on your tropical island?”

“Ha!  Definitely not.”  He ran his hand through his hair a few times, sheepishly admitting, “it was hell.”

Jamie caught his hand.

“Did you know you do that?”

“Yep, nervous habit.  I had to grow my hair to stop myself from scraping my scalp off.”

“Now _I’m_ sorry.  I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

“It’s okay.  I just…I just don’t talk about it, you know?  It’s like it’ll all start up again if I think about it.”

“You never thought about therapy?”

“No, I don’t do shrinks.”

“You don’t do shrinks, you don’t do relaxing, you don’t do life…”

“You must think I’m pretty pathetic.”

Jamie leaned towards him.

“Non,” he chewed on his lower lip, “I think you are pretty great.”

Jamie leaned that little bit further and kissed him.  Jamie tasted of wine and brandy, cigarettes and that faint smell of lavender that was just pulling him in, intoxicating.  Jamie shifted closer to him and wrapped his arm around him, pulling him flush to him.  For one second, Jack thought ‘what the hell am I doing’ and then Jamie squeezed his ass and all coherent thought left his brain.  Jamie kissed him like he had all the time in the world, which, right now, he pretty much did.  He pushed Jack onto his back and crawled on top of him, grinding against him slowly.

“Fuck, jesus, Jamie.”

He ran his hands down Jamie’s back, snaked them under his waistband and dug his nails into those dimples, forcing them closer together.  Jamie kissed behind his ear and down his neck, murmuring a string of French.  Jack was becoming rapidly undone.  Jamie’s hand were running through his hair as he moved over to kiss him again, his tongue sliding slowly against his own.  Jack couldn’t quite remember why he’d stopped doing this.  Oh yeh, divorce, plane crash, world of shit.

Jamie sensed a change in his mood and pulled back.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Ah, you are really full of it, non?”

He ran his palm down Jack’s chest and cupped him, leaned in again and growled in his ear, “stop thinking, Jack!”

And with that, he was gone.

 

“The fuck?  Jamie?”  Jack sat up and looked around.  “Jamie?!”

“Jack!  This way!”

 He got up and dusted himself off, turned all the way round but couldn’t figure out where the voice had come from.

“Jamie!”

He saw a light dancing in the distance and ran after it.  A large building loomed up in the dark in front of him.  The torchlight disappeared and he slowed down, coming to a door, old and wooden, with thick grey stone surrounding it.  He went to touch it and the next thing he knew, the door had opened and he’d been pulled in and pushed up against a wall, a hand holding him lightly in place while the door clicked shut.  In the darkness, the hand moved down to his crotch.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Distracting you.”  He could tell Jamie was grinning at him even though it was pitch black in the room.

“Isn’t this breaking and entering?”

The hand rubbed against him.

“Not when it’s your house.”

“Oh.”  Jack was confused.

“What did I say about thinking too much?”

Jamie pushed his tongue into Jack’s mouth in a wide, sloppy kiss – the rubbing against him speeding up.  Jack pitched his hips forward, thrusting into Jamie’s hand.

“Okay, these are coming off now.”

Jack could hear some rustling and realised Jamie had got to his knees.  The buttons on his jeans were pulled open and he quickly toed his shoes off as his jeans and shorts were pulled down and off, flung to the floor somewhere in the dark.  Jamie ran his hand up and down his cock, then brushed his cheek against it reverently, finally licking from the base to the head.

“Fuck!”

Jack’s hands flexed at his sides and he reached forward and ran his fingers through Jamie’s hair, feeling his head move slowly up and down as he started to suck on his cock, swirling his tongue across the slit, squeezing his balls.  Then Jamie set up a low hum at the back of his throat and Jack felt it right down to his toes.

“Oh jesus, Jamie, fuck, it’s been, it’s been too long, not gonna be able to, not gonna, god, fuck-“

A finger stroked the edge of his ass and Jack lost his mind, exploding into Jamie’s mouth, holding tightly onto his head, releasing everything.  Jamie just took it, swallowed it all, slowly bringing Jack back down with soft licks around his cock, finally licking around the end and letting it go with a pop.  Jack couldn’t have thought anything if he tried.

“Holy fuck.”

A hand pulled on Jack’s, which was still gripping Jamie’s hair, and he let go, allowing himself to be pulled to the floor and sinking down with his legs stretched out and Jamie kneeling between them.

“Holy fuck.”

“Ah oui, you said that already.”

Jack leaned forward and pulled him in for a kiss, Jamie’s mouth now tasting of him, salty, pungent.

“Mmmm.”

“Stay here.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Jack heard a sharp crack to his right and a flare of light.  A few sparks and he could see Jamie now, crouched in front of a growing fire.  The light danced off him and across the room.

“Jesus.”

He was facing a metal winding staircase and two wooden doors.  The room he was in had high ceilings with timber beams, some beautiful art deco armchairs and a couch, an inviting big fluffy brown rug and some black and white framed photos on the walls.  The room was as wide as the house but the fire was making it feel cosy.

“This is my kind of burglary.”

Jamie got up and walked back over to him, sat down on the floor and leant back onto Jack, pulling his arms round him.

“Like I said, I made some bad mistakes and some better ones.”

Jack sniffed into Jamie’s hair.

“So the lavender’s yours?”

“Ah oui,” he stroked the inside of his thighs and Jack shivered from the touch, still coming down.

“Why are you a waiter if you have all this?”

Jamie turned round and climbed onto Jack’s lap, kissing him hungrily.

“So I can meet miserable Americans like you.”

 

Light taps on the window woke Jack from a not so deep sleep.  He could hear rain on the roof but there was no moonlight to see the drops falling down the windowpane.  He turned his head and snuffled into the pillow, one eye now on Jamie. The candle by the bed was almost burnt to the nub and the light flickered across Jamie’s closed eyes.  He really was beautiful, in a very French way.  Jesus, what a night. 

Jack reached out and touched Jamie’s shoulder, his upper body exposed where he’d twisted the sheet around his legs in his sleep.  He felt over the scar, dipped his fingers around the circle.  He’d seen enough gunshot wounds to recognise the fading mark of one.  Guess that was one of Jamie’s bad mistakes.  Jamie stirred in his sleep and mumbled.  Well, at least he wouldn’t understand anything he said in his sleep.  Jack withdrew his hand, not quite ready to wake him up as Jamie’s hand on the pillow tightened into a fist and he frowned, pulling in a sharp intake of breath and then mumbling one word,  
  
"Doc."  



	5. Chapter 5

“Doc.”

Jack’s eyes widened and he scrambled off the bed backwards, landing in a heap of sheet against the wall.  What the fuck?  What did he say?  He stared at Jamie, who just rolled onto his back and started a soft snore.  What the fuck was going on?  He pinched himself.  No, he was definitely awake.  He looked down at his hands – he was shaking.  This was ridiculous!  Had he imagined it?  Maybe that was Jamie’s new name for him.  No, he thought back, not once had he called him that.  He hadn’t called him anything except Jack.  He must have imagined it, he must have.  He hugged his knees to his chest and rested his chin, wide eyes still staring at Jamie’s sleeping form.  Come on, it wasn’t like he’d been in his right mind lately.  When he was drunk enough, he was seeing Sawyers to the right and left of him, all the fucking time.  But this?  He was stone cold sober.  And now, very much awake.  Unless…no, now he was being an idiot.  Jack got up and crawled back onto the bed, kneeling by Jamie.  He took a long, hard look at him.  What would he look like with longer hair?  When had he been shot? He sat back and ran a hand through his hair.  This man, this man in front of him.  Was it him?  Jamie was so open, so laidback, so honest.  But…laid back, laid back like Sawyer…but the rest of him was so different.  What the fuck was going on?  He stared at Jamie’s face, imagined a sardonic Southern drawl coming from those lips.  Jesus.  It _was_ him.  Jamie was Sawyer.  Sawyer was Jamie.  What the fuck was he playing at? 

“Oh.”

He was being conned.  This was just a con.  Jack realised that tonight had been a night of reawakened emotions and here was another one to stir him up – fucking anger.  He leapt at Jamie and punched him, hard.

“You fucking sonofabitch!”

“Ow, merde, what the fuck?!”

Jack jumped off the bed and ran out of the room, grabbing his shirt and discarded jeans on his way out of the house.

“Jack!  Jack!  Come back!”

He ran through the field, rain now pouring down, mixing with his angry tears.  What a fucking idiot he was, what a fucking idiot.  A hand grabbed him and spun him around.

“You son of a bitch!”  He pushed Jamie, Sawyer, whofuckingever away from him and tried to turn away.

“Jack, Jesus, what is it?” he pulled on his arm.

“You fucking redneck sonofabitch!”

He punched him again and he fell back, dropping the torch.  Jack rushed forward and bent over him on the ground.

“What?!”, he screamed at him.  “You didn’t think I was fucked up enough, _you_ wanted to fuck me over as well?”

“Jack, please!”

He raised his hands to stop the battery of fists, grabbed hold of Jack and pulled him over, trapping his hands to his sides and his legs with his own.  They were both soaked through and getting muddier by the second.  Jack twisted to get out of his grip but he held him firm.

“Let me go!  Leave me the fuck alone!”

“Hell no!”

Jack realised that his accent had changed, the French tone now tinged with a touch of Southern, a fucked up sounding accent but one oh so familiar to him.

“Jack, I’m sorry.  Please, stop this, come back inside, let me explain!”

Jack let out a bitter laugh.  “Explain what?  How you tried to con me?”

“No, you dumbass!  That wasn’t it at all!  Jesus, you’re an asshole.”

“So get the fuck off me and let me go!”

“No!”

Sawyer leant down and dove into Jack’s mouth.  He’d fought the tears and his anger and Sawyer’s fucking hands holding him down but, it turned out, he was pretty powerless against those lips.  Sawyer pulled away and gave Jack a pleading look.

“Please?  Come back to the house, let me explain.  You’re half dressed and it’s at least ten kilometres back to town.”  He looked up at the sky.  “And, if you hadn’t noticed, it’s kinda raining.”  And there was that smile again, dammit.

“Okay.” 

Sawyer got up and pulled Jack to his feet.  Jack quickly let go of his hand and moved away from him, giving him his best angry stare.  He started trudging back to the house, only now realising that neither of them had any shoes on.

 

“Wait a second.”

Sawyer disappeared through one of the doors and Jack was left to shiver in the lounge.  He walked over to the dying fire and stared at the embers, rocking on his heels.

“Here, take your shirt off.”

Jack pulled off his wet shirt and felt a large towel being placed on his shoulders.  Sawyer bent down and stoked the fire, then ran a towel over his head and pulled off his jeans, tying the towel around his waist.

“You too or you’ll catch your death.”

“What do you care?”

“Jack, please.”

He got undressed and accepted the blanket he was offered.

“Sit down, I’ll be back.”

Jack sat, cross-legged and stared into the fire.  After a couple of minutes of zoning out with the flames, he heard Sawyer come back in.  He had a fresh pair of sweats on, a pair for Jack over his arm and two mugs of hot chocolate.  Jack accepted the pants and drink without thanks.  Sawyer laid all the wet clothes out on the hearth and sat down, facing Jack.  Jack stared back at the fire; he couldn’t stand to look at him right now.

“Okay, where shall I start?”

“How about when you decided to become French?”

“It wasn’t a decision I wanted to make, believe me.  It just happened.”

Jack snorted but continued to stare into the fire.

“Okay, so there’s more to it than that.”

Jack waited.  Hell, at least this would prove he wasn’t the only basketcase in the room.

“When I left the island, there were some people waiting for me.  Let’s just say I owed one of their family members some money from way back when and they were a _big_ family.”  He sipped his drink.  “So, I got word of a mark over here and figured I could get these guys off my back.  Only now, I’d lost it somehow.  That damn island had knocked my game and this old bird in Paris saw right through me.  Weird thing was, she found it funny.  She’d taken a liking to me and wanted to help.  So, I moved into her apartment on the Left Bank and she helped me disappear.  Her old man had been high up in the French Government and in return for some, well, favors, she got me set up.  As far as the family was aware, I died in a backstreet mugging.  She taught me how to speak French, fluently, like I was born to it and, you know what?  She taught me how to laugh again, and live, something I’d stopped doing a really long time ago.”

He turned round and grabbed a picture frame off a side table, looked at it wistfully and handed it to Jack.

“That’s her, Perdy, Madame Petit.  She was one hell of a woman.  She didn’t just save my life, she gave me a new one, a better one.”

Jack stared at the photograph.  A woman in her early sixties smiled out at him, sitting in a boat, eyes crinkled from laughter.

“She died, a while ago, and she didn’t have anyone else, no children, no family, so she left some money to me and the rest went to a cats home in Paris.  She was batty but I loved her for it.”  Sawyer let out a deep sigh.  “After she’d gone, I couldn’t stay in Paris, I’d see her everywhere I went, she was haunting me.”

Jack looked up at Sawyer, handing him back the frame.  He put it back on the table, his thumb drifting over her face.

“So, I came here, found this place, and time just…took over.  Then…then you came.”

“So, you just fell back into your old habits when you saw me, yeh?  Figured here was a really easy mark.”  Jack was disgusted, with himself and with Sawyer.

“God, are you really _that_ fucked up?”

Jack didn’t answer.

“You’re not a mark, Jack.  You never were.”

Sawyer sighed again and grabbed the poker from the hearth, pushing a few logs down into the flames.

“When you came into the café the other day, I was beyond surprised.  Here’s me in this little podunk town and you walk into it, looking like hell.  I figured you’d recognise me straight away, we’d make a bit of small talk, catch up and you’d be on your way.  I didn’t realise just how much I’d changed until you apologise for mistaking me for me!  I heard your Aunt talking to you and I watched you from the kitchen.  Jack, you looked so…broken.”  Sawyer looked down at his hands, crossed his arms and uncrossed them.  “When I saw you like that, I just…I just wanted to help you.  Get some light into your life like someone had once done for me.  I just figured, if you saw Jamie, not Sawyer, I’d get to see you smile more, relax a bit.  And jesus Jack, you can’t tell me it hasn’t worked?”

Jack looked at him again, his jaw set, but a tear escaped anyway.

“You’re not conning me?”

“No, Jack.  I’m not Sawyer anymore.  I’m James Ford again, well, Jamie Petit anyway.  And, well, you’re the last person I’d want to hurt.”

“I just, I just don’t know what to believe here.”

“I know, and yes, I am a sonofabitch for lying to you but I did it for the right reasons.  Have you looked at yourself lately?  Jack, you look like you brought the island back with you.  Like it’s crushing you still, every second of every day.”

“I don’t think about it, I don’t think about anything.”

“That’s part of the problem.”

Jack wiped his eyes.  “Since when were you such an expert?”

“Jack, I know people and I know you.”

“So, what about this then?”  He gestured between the two of them.

Sawyer moved forward and kneeled in front of Jack, bringing his lips to within an inch of his.

“If you think that there’s nothing here, that this is all BS, I’ll let you go, you can walk away and forget anything happened, go back to your shitty life and your daily blood and guts.”  He lifted his eyes and met Jack’s.  “Or-," he leaned forward and kissed Jack softly and slowly, drawing his lips into his mouth.  He pulled away and looked into his eyes again.

“You can’t fix me, Sawyer.”

“Jack, it’s Jamie, and up until about a half hour ago, I was doing a pretty good job at just that.”

“I think,” Jamie looked at him hopefully, “I think you should take me back to the hotel.

That fleeting frown reappeared and stayed this time.

“Okay.”

  
  
Jack stood by the bed and looked at the shirt on the balcony chair, now dry with the arms blowing gently in the breeze.  He put his hands on his hips and looked down at the borrowed clothes he was wearing, his own clothes thrown on the bed.  What the fuck was he supposed to do now?  He fell onto the bed as exhaustion hit him like a car into a wall.  Turning on his side, he started out of the balcony doors, watching the sky slowly pink up over the rooftops.  He grabbed a packet of cigarettes from the bedside table and started smoking, a lot.  And, he started thinking again, a lot.  He thought about what Sawyer used to be like, he thought about what the hell had he been doing since the island and, as the sun came up, he thought about Jamie and who this man now was and what that really meant.   



	6. Chapter 6

**THURSDAY**

“You look like hell!”

“Thanks.  You look so much better.”

“Darling, I feel fantastic.  I could eat a horse.  What’s wrong with you?  No more French young man to entertain you?”

“Nope.”

Jack had brought Deedee a breakfast tray and he placed it by her on the bed, snagging a strawberry from the fruit salad.  Deedee eyed him suspiciously.

“You’ve had sex!”

“Deedee!”

“Well, you have, haven’t you?  I’m not so old that I can’t recognise that certain glow, you know.”

Jack felt himself blushing.

“Though, I must say, your glow looks like it’s been crapped on from a great height.”

“It has.  Deedee, do you feel well enough to move on?  Maybe tomorrow?  I need to get out of here.”

“Jeez Jack, someone’s really run over your dog.  Get up here.”

She patted the bed and Jack lay down next to her, earning a big hug from the old girl.

“Jack, whatever’s going on here, maybe you should face it.”  She ran her fingers through his hair rhythmically.

“I don’t think I can.”

“You’re so much like your father, so stubborn.  I heard you laughing the other day like I hadn’t heard in a really long time.  Do you really want to walk away from that?”

“I can’t trust him, he lied to me.”

“Oh trust schmust.  Do you think that-“

“ _No_ , Deedee, no, I can’t.  Please, just leave it okay?  We’re leaving tomorrow.”

There was a knock at the door.

“It’s probably the landlady, come to fuss over me.”

Jack went to open the door.  It wasn’t the landlady.  Yvette looked him up and down and tutted at him, shaking her head and bustling past him before he could say anything.

“Allô darling, ‘ow are you?”

“Ah, Yvette, my bowels have been in torment-“

“Ladies, I’ll see you later Deedee.”

“Yes darling, don’t get into too much trouble today, okay?”

“Okay.”

Jack distinctly heard Jamie’s name as he closed the door behind him.  He spent the rest of his morning arranging flights to Paris and generally sulking around his hotel room.  He felt worse than he had in years, damned island included. Could someone change that much?

 

“I’ve just come to say goodbye.”

“You are leaving?”

“Yes, tomorrow morning for Paris, early.  I have to get back to the States.”

“Oh Jack.”

Yvette tutted from behind the counter as Patrice moved to the front of the shop to hug him.  At least he’d met one honest person here.

He whispered to her, “your grand-mère hates me.”

“Tsk, non, she is just looking out for him.  She sees him as a son.”

“And me as a pig.”

Patrice laughed, “non Jack, non.”  She looked up at him with sad eyes.  “Do you really have to go?”

“Oui,” he said seriously.

She managed a smile.

“He cares for you, vrai?”

“No, he cares for himself.”

“Ha!  You and I know two different Jamies.”

“Maybe.  I have to go.”  He hugged her again.

“Au revoir Jack, save some of those cakes for me, d’accord?”

“D’accord.”


	7. Chapter 7

**FRIDAY**

The short flight to Paris meant Jack arrived in a drugged up haze – the valium, Nytol and a touch of vodka in the departure lounge all still rushing through his system.

“Jack!”

“What?”  He looked up from his seat on the floor of the arrivals floor.  Deedee was standing over him.

“I’ll get to see Paris after all.  The flight’s been cancelled and we’ve been bumped to the next one at midnight.  Come on,” she dragged him up, “we’re gonna hit the town.”

 

The outskirts of Paris passed by the taxi window.  Big, ugly grey tower blocks, a tree here and there, concrete everywhere.  Jack closed his eyes and leant his head against the window.  This was where he’d said he’d grown up.  What a fool he’d been, what a fool.  His mind wandered back to the night in the lavender fields, to the hot kisses in the lounge, to the rushed tear of clothes as they made their way to the bedroom, giving up halfway and collapsing on the staircase, Jamie, Sawyer, Sawyer, Jamie thrusting into him, crying out with a sob as he came, to lying under clean, white sheets, to all of the lies, all of it bullshit, all of it.

“Jack!”

“Hmm?”

“We’re here.”  They’d stopped outside a small brasserie with the Eiffel Tower looming over the rooftops nearby.  A very large lunch started to bring Jack back to his senses but reality just took him deeper into sadness, having to hold his head up and force the walls back up, clenching and unclenching his fists over coffee and Deedee’s constant small talk.  All those lies.  All of it bullshit, all of it.

 

The haze hung over him as Deedee pulled him down the street and into a bookshop.

“Sit darling, relax.  Okay?”

A book was thrown in his lap and a half hour later, he was curled up in the armchair by the window, engrossed in a particularly depressing piece of Baudelaire.

“Je fermai les deux yeux, dans ma froide épouvante,

Et quand je les rouvris à la clarté vivante,

À mes côtés, au lieu du mannequin puissant

Qui semblait avoir fait provision de sang,

Tremblaient confusément des débris de squelette-“

Jack looked up into those eyes. 

“What are you doing here?”

“An old birdie told me where you might be.”

A soft cough brought his attention to Deedee, who was quickly hiding her guilt behind a wide smile.

“Ah, Jack darling, I see your friend has found you.  I’ll see you at the airport, ten-thirty at the very latest, don’t be late.”

She bent down and kissed him on the cheek, squeezed Sawyer’s arm as she left the shop and Jack watched her walk over to the river.  He turned back.  Neither of them said a word.  Jack looked away first, closing his book and untangling his legs from under him.  Sawyer offered him a hand.

“Come.”

“Why?”

“Please?”

Sawyer shouted to the young girl behind the desk and pulled Jack towards the back of the store, through a door and into a kitchen.  He pointed to a stool.

“Sit.”

Jack sat and watched as he moved around the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards, grabbing a large glass, milk and OJ from the fridge, a cluster of condiments, some dark bottles as well; all of it mixed up and handed to Jack in the glass.

“Drink.”

“Why?”

Sawyer muttered under his breath and put his hands on his hips, looking down at the floor.  He took a deep breath and looked up again, pointing to just above Jack’s head.

“Because you need to get out from under that fog.  You’re not on the plane just yet, Jack.”

Jack drank, keeping his eyes on Sawyer, trying his best to ignore the parts of him that were both wishing he would still be there and that he’d disappear as soon as he’d finished the drink.  Like the white rabbit, like-

“Fuck!” he coughed and gasped through the dregs in the glass.  A bolt of awake shot through him and split everything in half.

“Family recipe, like I said.”

“Jesus,” he wiped his mouth. 

Sawyer took the glass from him and placed it on the counter.  He grabbed Jack’s hand again.

“I want you to come with me.”

“Me who?” he glared at him.

“Me Jamie, that’s who I am.  That’s who you were with the other night.”

“I don’t know Jamie, I _know_ Sawyer.”

“So get to know me.  Come,” he pulled on Jack’s hand, “please?”

Jack let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

“Okay, just don’t, don’t-“

“It’s just a walk, Jack, that’s all.”

 

They left the bookshop, with a quick kiss on the cheek from Sawyer for the girl behind the counter, and turned down a side street, away from the river.  Another couple of turns and they were walking down a cobblestone alley, Jack having lost all sense of direction and, possibly, his marbles too.  Sawyer stopped at a big black panelled door and took a key out of his pocket.  Opening the door, he stopped the beeps of an alarm with some quick taps on a keypad and pulled Jack in.  Jack looked up at a domed glass ceiling, several floors above, with a winding flight of stairs snaking up the wall.

“Come.”

They stopped halfway up the stairs and he pushed open a mottled glass door.  A flurry of dust lifted and settled with the breeze of the door being opened and Sawyer threw his key on a table and walked ahead.  Opening a set of wooden doors, they walked into a vast sitting room, with long shuttered windows and dust covers over the furniture.  Jack could’ve heard a pin drop, until Sawyer walked over to the shutters and folded them back, unlocking the French doors and letting the light and the noise of Paris traffic into the room.  A dusty chandelier hung from the ceiling and, as Sawyer began pulling the gray cloths off, he revealed some stunning Twenties furniture, not unlike the chairs in the farmhouse.

“What is this place?”

“This was my home, for a while.”  Sawyer folded the cloth in his arms and looked around.  “Like I said, once Perdy’d gone, I couldn’t stand being in Paris.  So, I left.”

“This is yours?”

“Yes.”

“I need to sit down.”

“Please,” he gestured to a chair by the windows and continued to lift all the dust covers until the room no longer resembled Miss Haversham’s sitting room. 

“Jack, I-”.  A doorbell rang.  “Don’t move.”

Sawyer left the room and he heard him going back downstairs.  Jack’s fingers itched.  He got up and went to the French doors.  There was another building opposite and to either side, and a small garden square in the middle.

“Sorry about that.”  Jack didn’t bother turning around.  “Drink?”

A bottle was placed in his hand as Sawyer stood next to him and looked out at the view.  Jack pulled out the cork and took a very long slug.  He couldn’t deal with this, with this man standing so close to him, he wanted to get wasted and just fly away.

“I got some food as well, if you’d like?”

He handed the bottle back to Sawyer and sat down on the floor, leaning against the shutters.

“I wouldn’t.”

Sawyer moved opposite him and stretched a leg out, as Jack brought both of his to his chest.

“Smoke?”

“Why not.”

He took out two cigarettes and lit them both, handed one to Jack.  They sat and smoked.  Fucker looks so relaxed.  How does he do it?

“Why am I here?”

“Why are any of us here?”  His smirk earned a scowl in response.  “Okay, you’re here because I don’t want you to leave.  There, I’ve said it.”

“What if I want to leave?”

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why do you want to leave?  ‘Cos I’m a lying sonofabitch?  Done for the right reasons Jack, and you know it.  ‘Cos you’ve got something to go back to?  A big fat fucking no, Jack.”

Jack thought about his apartment on Grove Street, clothes still in boxes after five years, empty walls, a full liquor cabinet.

“Because people are depending on you?  There’s always another martyr, just leaving med school, ready to follow your path.”  He blew out smoke rings.  “’Cos you have _someone_ to go back to?  I don’t think so.”

He flicked his cigarette out the window.

“What do you remember about the island, Jack?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”  Goddammit.  He got up and started pacing the room, his left hand running through his hair.

“You want to know what I remember?”  He didn’t wait for an answer.  “I remember you being so strong for everybody else, for so long, under such difficult circumstances, that, finally, it broke you.  I know you didn’t expect to leave the island, Jack.  I know you expected to die there.”

Jack stopped pacing and loomed over Sawyer.

“And what the fuck do you know?”  Tears started down his cheeks.

“You couldn’t save everyone, Jack.”

“I should’ve been able to.”

Sawyer stood up and touched him on the arm but he shoved him away.

“I don’t need your fucking sympathy!  Do you think I like this?  I’m worse than my old man.  If I sleep, I don’t want to wake up ‘cos my dreams are so haunted, if I don’t sleep, I can’t get through the day without drugs or drink or both!  I know I’m fucked up!  I know it!  That doesn’t mean I have to take anyone else down with me!”

He let out a sob and crumpled to the floor.  Sawyer bent down and pulled him into a hug.  He resisted for a moment but there was just no fight left in him.  He let out an unearthly howl and shook with heavy sobs.  Sawyer stroked his hair and whispered to him, “god, let it out Jack, please, get it all out.”  Jack couldn’t stop crying.  He cried for his father, he cried for everyone who didn’t make it off that fucking island, and he cried for himself, for all the shit he’d put himself through, time and again and here he was, lonely and miserable and aching for just a small bit of happiness, just the ability to smile without feeling guilty for it.

 

He came to slowly, feeling warmth under his head and a hand stroking his hair.  He opened his eyes.  He was lying down with his head in Jamie’s lap, a dust cover thrown over him.  Jamie was smoking, again.

“What happened?”

“I think you cried yourself into exhaustion.  You’ve been asleep for an hour or so.”

Jack sat up and swivelled round so he could lean against the shutter alongside Jamie.

“How do you feel?”  He offered him his cigarette.  Jack took a slow drag.

“Actually?  Okay.”  Jack stared out at the sky.  “What happens now?”

“Do you want to leave?”

Jack’s eyebrows shot up as he realised his answer was no.  Jamie smiled as he took back the cigarette.

“Well.  That’s something, non?”  Jack rested his head on Jamie’s shoulder.  “Jack?  I think you’re going to be okay.”


	8. Chapter 8

**After**

After they’d sat and smoked for a while, after Jack had run a finger over Jamie’s jaw and pulled him in for a kiss, after they’d made love on the floor, after Jack had paged Deedee at the airport and told her that he wasn’t coming back and to tell the hospital that his plane had crashed and he hadn’t survived after all.  After they’d taken a late flight back to Avignon, after they’d made out in the back of the taxi with the driver whistling along to some mad Algerian French rap, after they’d run through the lavender in the pitch black and chased each other into the house.  After all this, Jack lay in bed and watched Jamie as he slept.  He watched as Jamie’s breath caught and his brow furrowed and his hand tightened on the pillow.  He eased his hand under Jamie’s and leant over him, whispered in his ear, “it’s alright Jamie, Doc’s here, Doc’s right here.”  He laid his head back on the pillow and listened as Jamie’s breathing evened out again and he closed his eyes, leaving his hand clasped in his, and falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

**Fin**


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